Past and Present
by WriteOrLeft
Summary: Life at 221B is flipped upside down one day when the boys have a visitor. What does the visitor have to do with Sherlock's past, and more importantly, what does she mean for his present? Pre-Reichenbach. AU. Looks at what Sherlock's university days might have been like.
1. Chapter 1: The Visitor

**Hi there! **

**So, I've been reading Fanfics for a while now, and I decided to have a go at writing one. Lemme know how I did?**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the Sherlock universe. **

**Chapter 1: The Visitor**

"_GET UP!" _I yell, slamming the plate on the coffee table. "Just one piece of toast! Come on! You haven't eaten in 3 days, Sherlock!"

I groan and tap my foot in exasperation. I've been trying to get him to eat something-anything since morning. Idiot hasn't had a bite in ages and hasn't slept either. I know it's what he always does, but he also hasn't budged from his laptop for a full 24 hours. Honestly, it's like dealing with a child sometimes.

He grunts in response and waves me off as he always does, not even bothering to look up from the goddamned screen.

I take a deep breath, about to continue my rant by threatening to call Mrs. Hudson when, speak of the devil, she knocks on our already open door and lets herself in.

"Mornin' loves! Have you not heard the doorbell? You boys have a visitor!" She chirps.

"Morning, Mrs. Hudson. Uh, no, we've been a bit preoccupied." I say, looking towards Sherlock who is continuing his incessant scrolling and most likely hasn't even noticed Mrs. Hudson's entrance.

"That's all right, I'll just send her up then." Mrs. Hudson replies brightly and scurries back down the stairs.

I exhale deeply to calm myself down and take a quick 30 seconds to somewhat straighten up the living room. I'm kicking a stack of old newspapers under a chair just as our visitor enters the doorway.

A young brunette coughs from the threshold. She's roughly 5 foot 3 but, looks like she could be about 16 or 17. "Um, hi. Sorry to be bothering you... " She says nervously in an American accent.

I walk up to greet her, and by Sherlock-induced habit, I quickly size her up. She has delicate features; a slight nose, a small chin. Other than her strikingly blue eyes, everything about her face is pretty and subtle. Her clothes look old-fashioned, but somehow suit her. She has crumbs on the knitted scarf wrapped around her neck. She has bags under her eyes, her hair is done up in a messy knot, and her hands topped with chewed-off fingernails are strangling the life out of the straps on her handbag. Poor thing looks exhausted and nervous as hell.

"No, it's no problem." Extending my hand, I say, "I'm John Watson, how can I help you?"

"Velia Forrester," she replies, shaking my hand. "Um, is Sherlock Holmes here?" she asks.

I laugh and say, "Well his body certainly is. I'm not too sure where his mind is though. Why don't you step inside, Velia and you can explain your case."

She sits down on our dusty couch and glances around the room.

Nodding towards Sherlock I say, "Ignore him, he'll jump in the conversation once he feels like it. What can we help you with?"

"Um, well actually," she starts. She fidgets in her seat and looks perplexedly towards Sherlock who's still typing away at that godforsaken laptop, before looking back to me.

"I don't actually need help solving a problem, per se, it's more that-"

"That's it!" Sherlock suddenly shouts from his laptop. Actually, my laptop, now that I notice it.

"John, get up, we need to go." He says, finally looking away from the machine in front of him. He gets up and rushes to the door. Swinging his coat on in one swift motion, he heads out. After a beat, however, he comes walking back into the flat and stares at Velia.

He cocks his head to the side, and peers at her. He's got his deducing face on.

"Put your hair down." He orders.

"Wh-Sherlock!" I say, aghast. "Sorry, Velia, he says things sometimes and-"

"Shut up, John." He says, staring at her the whole time. "I said, put your hair down."

"Um-" starts Velia, and looks at me, scared and confused.

"Oh, for goodness sake." Sherlock grumbles. He stalks over to Velia and yanks off her hair clip, causing her dark hair to fall to her shoulders.

"Sherlock!" I yell again, appalled at his even-stranger-than-usual behavior.

She squeaks and stares up at him, terrified.

"Hmm." Sherlock hums and nods in confirmation. "How is Helen doing?" he asks her.

The poor girl's eyes widen in shock, and I have to roll my eyes at Sherlock's lightning quick deduction, but then notice that her eyes are now shining with tears.

"Oh! Are you alright?" I rush over to sit next to her.

She shakes her head and quickly brushes her tears away. "I'm fine, I'm fine, thanks." She assures me.

I hand her a tissue and look towards Sherlock who is eyeing her suspiciously, like someone would eye new food before trying it for the first time.

Inhaling deeply, she turns to Sherlock. "She used to tell me you did that." She says with a shaky laugh. "But I didn't believe how… quickly you did it."

"She, who's she? Helen?" I ask, confused as ever and once again slightly frustrated that I'm never on the same page as anyone.

"My mom." Velia says at the same time that Sherlock says, "Her sister."

"Your mother?" He asks, surprised.

"Mhmm." She says, nodding. "She had me pretty young."

"I see." Sherlock mutters.

He takes two long strides and sits down across from Velia while removing his coat. Huh. He almost never does that once he's made up his mind to leave the flat.

"What do you mean, she used to tell you?" he asks her carefully.

Velia takes another deep breath and says, "Um, well. That's part of why I came here. My mom- um..." She trails off. Regaining her composure, she continues. "She passed away. Two months ago." She looks down at her hands and lets out a deep breath.

_Poor thing. No wonder she looks a fright. _I reach out to her shoulder and say, "I'm so sorry, Velia. If there's anything you'd like us to do-"

"How- how did it happen?" Sherlock interrupts me with an expression on his face I've never seen him with. Like he doesn't want to ask the question but needs to. For a quick second, he almost looks remorseful, but his face quickly takes on a mask of concentration, like it always does whenever he's working on a case.

He tentatively extends his arm to lay his large hand on her tiny knee. Again. Something I thought he'd never do… _Who was Helen and why is Sherlock acting this way?_

She refuses to look at him and makes herself busy by picking at a stray thread on her coat.

"Velia?" I carefully ask.

She gulps and says, "Car accident. She was hit by a teen driver on her way back home from work. She… went… a few hours later in the hospital." She finishes and swats at her eyes again.

"I see…" Sherlock says. "And you're here because you don't think it was an accident?"

Now Velia looks up, confused. "What? No… No, it was definitely an accident. The guy was drunk and it was on a street with very little lighting. Everything checked out and it really was just an accident…" she says. "I think I've come to terms with it."

Sherlock puts his hands under his chin, like he always does when he's in deep thought.

"Erm-" I say. "Sorry, not to be rude or brash, but if you don't want us to solve anything… why, um, why are you here?" I ask hesitantly. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah. In general, I guess it is." She says slowly. "Um, the reason I'm here was to let Sherlock know about my mom. She always spoke about you and I guess you two were close. I guess I just thought you might have wanted to know…"

I wonder how this girl's mum knew Sherlock well enough to be talking about him so much. I'm about to ask, but I see that Sherlock is studying her very intently. When he's like this, it's like I can almost see the gears in his mind turning and hear them whirring. I know better than to interrupt him when he's calculating, thinking, deducing. So I decide not to say anything.

Velia waits for a reaction from him, but when it doesn't come, she continues. "I came to England 'cause I'm starting at Cambridge in the fall. I would've just gone to my local university back home, but Mom always wanted me to go to Cambridge…" she trails off and looks to both of us again.

Sherlock has yet to react or say anything.

"I'm sorry, I'm being stupid. I- there's really no point of me being here." She gets up to leave, but Sherlock stops her.

"Wait. Stay."

She furrows her eyebrows, but then sits back down.

"Continue." Sherlock orders.

As usual, I step in to correct Sherlock's manners. "Sorry, he means for you to finish your explanation."

She laughs lightly and continues. "Um, okay… I decided to come a few months earlier because I couldn't handle being home…without Mom I mean. Even though I'm really close with my stepdad. It just… didn't feel like home anymore. I'm staying at a hotel here in London until school starts. My stepdad's paying for everything and my hotel's good and everything. It's just that I don't know anyone yet. But Mom told me that when I came to England, I could get in touch with you," she says to Sherlock. "Because you might be able to help me out if I ever needed anything?" she finishes hesitantly.

She looks at him expectantly, but Sherlock merely readjusts his hands under his chin and stares even more intently at her. She waves her hand in front of him, and still- nothing. I chuckle, knowing Sherlock won't say anything until he's ready.

Looking puzzled and slightly unnerved, Velia turns to me.

I shrug apologetically and say, "Sorry, he's like that sometimes, Velia. But of course, you're more than welcome to stay here if you'd like. It seems like your mother and Sherlock were good friends? I'm sure when he snaps out of what he's in, he'd agree."

She gives me the tiniest smile. "Thanks for the offer Mr. Watson. But I'm fine at the hotel for now. It's actually not too far from here."

"John, please." I reply. "What hotel are you staying at?"

"The Landmark London? It's a big castle-type building."

_The Landmark? _That place costs a fortune for just one night!

"Oh! All the way until fall? Won't that be a bit…" I try to find the right word.

"Expensive?" she says with a laugh. "Yeah, it is. But Brian can afford it. My stepdad I mean. And it's comfortable enough, I guess."

"Right. Well, offer still stands." I say warmly. "Would you like anything? Tea, juice?"

She glances to her watch. "Actually, I should get going. I was gonna go job hunting, and I have some shopping to do. But thank you, really." She looks towards Sherlock who is still studying her with an intensity that I have to admit, I've rarely seen.

"Is he ok?" she asks, concerned.

"Him? Oh, yeah. He'll be fine. He blanks out a lot. He's up here somewhere." I say, knocking on his skull. "He won't come out until he's done doing whatever it is he does up there."

Velia stands up to leave. "Mom told me he used to do that a lot." She says quietly.

Her mom certainly spoke a lot about Sherlock… "If you don't mind my asking, Velia, do you know how they knew each other? Sherlock and your mum?"

"They were in the same program together at Cambridge. My mom was always fascinated by British culture so she decided to go to school here. Except, when she was 19, she got pregnant with me, she decided to go back to Syracuse. Where we live. Lived, I mean."

This is news to me. Sherlock rarely, if ever, speaks of his university days. "I see. Well, it was great meeting you, Velia. Lovely name, by the way."

She smiles. "Thanks, it's Italian. I think it's the name of a hill or a city in Italy. My dad was Italian apparently, so my mom wanted to name me that. I've never met him though. Brian's the closest thing I have to one." She says with a shrug.

We're standing at the door now. "Well, I should get going now. Thanks again, Mr. Watson." she says.

"Not at all, Velia." Just as she turns to go, I think of something. "Oh! Why don't you give me your number, and I'll give you mine and Sherlock's. You know, just in case."

We exchange numbers, and once again, I give her my condolences and the assurance that our door is always open.

I turn around to see Sherlock still sitting in the exact same position, staring at the exact same spot, just as though Velia was still there. I laugh to myself. _Typical Sherlock._

He doesn't move for the next 6 hours.

**A/N: How was it? Review please!**


	2. Chapter 2: Blue

**A/N: Hi! Here's chapter 2. I've gotten a lot of views but no reviews... As a reader, I know it's a pain but as a writer I'd really appreciate a review! Please and thank you!**

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing from the Sherlock universe.**

**Chapter 2: Blue**

I'm writing a blog post near the window, when Sherlock suddenly speaks. His voice is a bit hoarse, I expect since he hasn't spoken a word for nearly 6 hours.

"Of course. Helen used to be of great help to me at times, and I'd be glad to…" he trails off, and looks around the room confusedly.

"Woken up, have you?" I ask whilst typing.

"She left." He states.

"Did she, now?"

"Yes, very funny John." He says, standing up. He begins pacing the room, but stops abruptly and touches his stomach. The angry growling sound echoes loudly throughout the flat.

"Harry sent a casserole. Top shelf, blue container. Beside the feces samples you collected last week."

"Ah, yes. Could you get rid of those? I've finished analyzing them." He says on his way to the refrigerator.

"Sorry, I really don't fancy handling a load of dog crap. But thanks for the offer, really."

"The pleasure is mine, Jonathan." I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

I finish up the last sentence I was typing, and get up to microwave a bit of dinner for myself as well. Harry and I have started communicating a bit more than before. Nothing major, just the occasional email, missed telephone call or casserole dropped off to Mrs. Hudson to pass on to me because I was out of the house. The forced semblance of normalcy is her way of apologizing for her drinking and all the bad decisions she's made. She tries. I try. But really, I just go along with it for the free food.

We're watching a rerun of some crap talk show while having dinner. Well, really it's just Sherlock who's watching. I realize he still hasn't said anything about his thoughts on Velia, so I turn off the telly.

"I was watching that!" he booms.

"Okay." I say drily. I take a bite of my casserole and then say, "You went blank _while_ we had a visitor. You've never done that before."

He rolls his eyes and says, "You're under the fallacious assumption that I have some form of control over when my body shuts down and my mind takes over. I cannot plan it, nor do I notice that it's happened." He shovels a spoon of the lumpy casserole into his mouth. "This is terrible." He says with his mouth full.

Ignoring him, I continue. "Where did you go this time? What were you thinking about?"

He takes another bite and reaches for the remote control like he didn't hear me. I intercept it and put it behind me. "Sherlock." I assert.

He sighs heavily, annoyed, but doesn't say anything again.

"Sherlock!" I try again.

"I thought she was her sister." He mutters.

"_What_?"

"Velia!" He yells. "I thought she was Helen's _sister_. It never occurred to me that Helen could have had a child. She had the _same_ bone structure, _same_ nose, _same_ chin but different hair and eyes. I remember Helen telling me once that her mum was brunette, and I'd seen family pictures with a baby in them her dormitory. I _know_ she had a sister, but never knew her name. I suppose the brown hair skipped a generation, or perhaps Velia's father had dark hair, but Helen never told me…" He trails off. "Never mind." He finishes. "Shut up. I'm off to bed. Good night, John." He disposes of his half-eaten plate recklessly on the coffee table, grabs his violin from its stand, stalks off to his bedroom and shuts the door, leaving me with my jaw hanging and confused.

Well, I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised. This is Sherlock after all. It's just that I haven't' seen such a strange reaction out of him in a while… I think the last time he acted so unlike himself was with the whole Irene Adler situation.

I hear loud, angry music until I fall asleep.

**Sherlock**

I see the stranger from the corner of my eyes, and all of a sudden I'm 19 again, reading Goethe in the corner by the window of my common room at Cambridge. It's Helen. It has to be. But it isn't. That isn't her hair. Those aren't her eyes. The same face. The same jaw that used to clench whenever I bested her. The same eyebrows that used to challenge me. The same small stature that used to make me feel superior. But it isn't her. Couldn't be. I have to blink twice to realize it. Helen was blonde. The stranger is brunette. Helen had brown eyes. The stranger's eyes are almost as blue as mine. Blonde. Brunette. Brown. Brown. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue.

**Velia**

My job search turned out to be a waste of time. No one's hiring. And most store-owners turned up their noses as soon as they heard me speak. It's like I could hear them seething _"American"_ in their heads. I sigh as I get into bed. I'll try in a different neighborhood tomorrow. I settle into the crispy white sheets of the overstuffed hotel bed and pull out my laptop to Skype Brian, my stepdad. I love hotel beds. They're always warm and cozy and feel just like sleeping on a fluffy cloud.

"Heeeey Bud!" His voice rings out from the speakers. He' in a suit, but his tie is crooked. I see the painting my mom did for him of our backyard behind him. He's still at the office.

"Hey, Bri." I yawn.

"How was day four?" he sing-songs.

"Ehh, so so. Still settling in."

"You could always come back you know," he says. "This was your decision, Vel." He didn't want me to come to England so early. Didn't see the point, and didn't like the thought of me being alone and so far away from where he could help me. But I had to get away from home.

"I know. I just- I don't know." I sigh. "It's really different, is all. But…I wanted different. Want it I mean." I correct myself. "I'm sure I'll get used to it eventually. I mean, it's barely been a week."

"Well, all you have to do is let me know, and I can have you on the next available flight!" he smiles.

I laugh. "I miss you too, Bri." I say, rolling my eyes. "Oh! I almost forgot. I visited Mom's friend today. Sherlock Holmes?"

"Oh, that genius mind-reader she always used to talk about?"

"Yeah. He was _exactly_ like mom described him. The first thing he said to me was to take down my hair! First I thought I didn't hear him right- I was so shocked. So he comes over, yanks off my clip, took one look at me and _knew_ I was related to Mom. He thought I was her sister, but still! How cool is that? But then, he blanks out. Like didn't move or speak at all. He just kept staring at me like he was reading my thoughts or something. But mom said he used to do that also… Like his body stops working and his mind goes into overtime. It's so cool."

Brian looks skeptical. "Cool? Really? Is that normal?"

I giggle. "Well, no, I guess not. But from what I've seen, and what Mom told me, Sherlock Holmes is anything _but_ normal."

"Well, he can't be all that bad, I guess. If your mom thought he was great, there's no way he's anything else." He's quiet for a moment, and I know what's coming next. "How you holdin' up kiddo?"

I shrug. "I try not to think about it too much." I'm excellent at boxing up my feelings and tucking them away for later. It's very useful, especially with my track-record for being particularly inept when it comes to people. Mind you, I can still carry a conversation and don't have anxiety so to speak, but I just don't like talking to people. My social skills, or lack thereof, have led me into one too many awkward situations and hurt feelings. But I've learned from my mistakes and so I no longer let other people affect me.

He frowns his over-concerned-step-dad frown. "And, um… You're not still… hurting yourself are you?"

I quickly turn away from the screen. "No." I say firmly.

He doesn't buy it, I know he doesn't, but bless him, he gives in. "Alright. Just… be careful. And call me or Anna anytime you need to talk, okay? She was your mom's sister, she's hurting too. And- and so am I. I want to help you, hon, but you never let me talk to you about it."

"I know… I'm sorry." I mutter.

"It's okay… I can't even begin to imagine how you're taking all this. And then you go an move halfway across the globe, and-"

"Bri." I stop him.

He sighs and relents. "Sorry."

We're both quiet for a while. I yawn, and realize how tired I am. I've had a very draining day.

"I should let you get to bed." Brian says, checking his watch. "It's like, what, midnight there? You're probably exhausted."

I nod. "Okay. I'll talk to you later, Bri."

"Love you, bud. Night."

"Love you too."

I shut down my laptop and nestle into the warm cloud-like embrace of the bed, thinking about everything I did today. John Watson seems like a really nice guy. He was really kind and understanding. But Sherlock Holmes… What do I think of him? I know for sure he must be extremely intelligent. It was interesting, albeit kinda weird the way he just went catatonic right in the middle of a conversation and stared at me with those piercing blue eyes of his, but Mom told me that was one of his quirks. And I know he must be a really good person. My mom was an excellent judge of character. _"You should give everyone a fair chance, Vel." _she used to tell me. _"Everyone has at least a little bit of good hiding inside of them. It just takes the right pair of eyes to see, or the right heart to coax it out. But I believe that everyone is innately good. It's just that sometimes, the other parts of them smother the good and choke it. If you give yourself the time to get to know a person though, the good will eventually come out."_

So maybe that's how she learned what Sherlock Holmes was like. He's a detective, he has to like helping people, so he must be a good person, right? Yeah, he's a bit creepy and I have a feeling he might be autistic or something, but if my Mom liked him, then he has to be a nice guy. I settle into a peaceful sleep with thoughts of my Mom's hugs and fluffy white clouds.

**A/N: Theories on who Velia is? How's my characterization? Sherlock is such a difficult character to write, but I hope I did him some justice? Thanks for reading! I have a lot planned for this story and I hope you like it :) PLEASE REVIEW!**


	3. Chapter 3: Stalker

**A/N:**** So many people are reading this, but no one's reviewing! I have a lot planned but please let me know if I should even bother continuing the story :/**

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing from the Sherlock universe.**

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**Chapter 3: Stalker**

**John**

The next couple of weeks fly by in a flurry of cases and silence from Sherlock. He's continued to shut himself off from me, and frankly everyone else. Even on cases, he works even more mechanically than he usually does. Quickly and quietly, he resolves case after case with a degree of concentration that is unnatural. Lestrade is obviously happy, but even he's noticed the shift in Sherlock's habits.

He's wedged himself into a zone that includes only himself while excluding the whole world and I am at a loss of ways to get him to come out of it. The one time I managed to get a word or two out of him was once when I asked him if he was still in a fuss over what happened with Velia, the girl who visited a while ago. Of course, he flat-out denied it, but I know him too well.

I thought I could ignore it. Until one day, I snap.

Sherlock is playing a very morose and depressing tune on the violin- the same morose and depressing tune he's been playing for the past 4 bloody hours.

"_Sherlock!" _I yell. I'm typing up a blog post by the window. I slam my laptop shut and get up.

I snatch the violin and bow away from him, but the idiot keeps making the motions of playing!

"Jeez." I put the violin down and grab his hands and force him to look at me. "You need to stop this, Sherlock. Enough is enough."

"Stop what, John." He deadpans.

"This! All of this! You haven't been yourself the past few weeks. What is going on?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes, ever the fifteen-year old. "In case you've forgotten, John, I had informed you the first time we met that I occasionally play the violin loudly. You agreed to the terms of the rental. Therefore, there is nothing for you to be complaining about."

My mouth gapes open. "N-no. No, Sherlock. That's not what I was talking about. Look, you're doing _exactly_ what you did after that whole thing with Irene Adler. You're not fooling me, you've been acting more annoying than usual ever since Velia came here that day."

He narrows his eyes at me and stands a little taller. "Absurd, John. Why would a visit from some American have any affect over me?"

"Because she's clearly not just _some American_, Sherlock. You said it yourself, Helen was clearly important to you." I cross the room to grab Sherlock's coat. Shoving it towards him, I say, "Put this on. You're going to visit Velia. I've had enough of your sulking. She's staying at the Landmark." I push him out the door.

He returns a quick second later.

"Out!" I yell, pointing towards the door.

"Two things." Sherlock says. "Firstly, I'm not going because you told me to, I was going to visit her today anyways."

I snort. "Right."

"Secondly," Sherlock continues, "I forgot my scarf." He grabs it from the hook and stalks out again.

* * *

**Velia**

"See you tomorrow, Laura!" I call out to my boss.

"Remember, we're rearranging the store tomorrow, Velia, don't be late!" she calls out from the back room.

"I know! Good night!"

I step out into the chilly air of the evening and smile up at the sky. I don't care what people say, I am _loving_ London's weather. Sweater weather is the best weather, in my opinion. There's a cool breeze that makes the leaves on trees flutter and make noise. Pulling my jacket closer to myself, I head left towards a little park I've been going to. It's become a part of my routine. I've been working at a little souvenir gift shop for the past week. The pay is good enough and my boss is great. Every day after my shift, I grab some dinner on the walk to the park before heading back to the hotel for the night.

I buy a sandwich from a bakery on the way and finally arrive to the spot where I've been spending my evenings. On a little bench overlooking a pond that's surrounded by trees and reminds me of the park near my old house back home.

A little family of ducks crosses the pond. I smile to myself. I haven't felt this much at peace in a very long time. I'm obviously not over the death of my mom or anything. But I do feel content. I've settled into a quiet routine and I finally feel like I have something to look forward to. It's just a matter of waiting until school starts. The change will be good, I think. If Mom loved Cambridge, I'm sure I will too.

Before it gets too dark, I feed the crusts from my sandwich to the ducks and start making my way back to the hotel.

* * *

**Sherlock**

I haven't been acting strange… Have I? John was partially correct about one thing, however. I have been thinking about Velia since she visited. One thing he was wrong about, though, was to assume that I haven't been in contact with her since.

Well… I suppose contact isn't the most appropriate word. I have simply been… watching her. I know where she is staying, I am aware that she has taken up a job at some decrepit shop and that she spends her evenings alone at a park halfway between her job and the hotel. I know she eats the same sandwich for dinner every day and that she doesn't eat the crusts and feeds them to wildlife instead. She dresses quite strangely for someone of her affluence and age. Her wardrobe consists of old-fashioned, yet tasteful dresses, skirts and jumpers. She doesn't color her face like most teenagers do. Her hair is always tied in a practical knot, giving her the impression of being someone who is put-together and strong, if it weren't for the way she slumps when she walks and tugs at her sleeves constantly to cover her hands. She clearly has very low self-confidence. Perhaps depression or some sort of an anxiety disorder. I'll have to get a closer look at her hands to be sure.

Nevertheless, she does seem to be independent and eccentric, just like her mother was.

I slump lower into the seat I'm in. I'm sitting in the lobby, waiting for Velia to return to the hotel. She should be arriving any moment now. I cross my arms and drum my fingers on my arm. Where is she? It doesn't usually take her this long to return. Losing my patience, I stand up and start pacing.

What will I say to her? I can't seem strange. Should I smile?

"Hello, Velia!" I practice out loud. "What a pleasant surprise!"

No… that might come across as strange.

"Velia. I've come to talk to you."

No, no. I can't scare the girl.

What is taking her so long?

I continue pacing angrily until some idiot blocks my path and bumps into me.

"Oh!" the stranger squeaks.

I look down and am met by wide blue eyes. Eyes almost the same color as those I see in the mirror. Eyes that I have seen before.

"Mr. Holmes!"

"Velia."

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**A/N:**** The secret of why Velia is so important is coming up very soon, I promise. It's pronounced "Vell-ya" by the way. For a hint, try searching for the meaning of the name! _And please please take a couple of seconds to review! _I honestly don't know if I should continue this! Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4: Answers

**A/N:**** Here's the next chapter... Kinda short but still necessary. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, it really means a lot! **

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing from the Sherlock universe.**

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**CHAPTER 4: Answers**

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**Velia**

This _always_ happens. I'm so clumsy. One minute I'm walking and the next I bump into some poor guy's chest.

"Oh!" I look up to see who I've crashed into, only to see the angry face of the same man I met just a short while ago.

"Mr. Holmes!"

"Velia." He says.

"Sorry! I wasn't watching where I was going, I honestly didn't see you there, I'm so sorry, I'm always doing this-"

"It's quite alright." He interrupts, stepping back.

"Sorry. Ok. Um," I awkwardly shift from foot to foot. "What- um. Sorry, what are you doing here?" After the way he acted at his apartment that day, I wasn't expecting to meet him again, let alone have him show up at my hotel.

He puts his hands behind his back and straightens his back. _Man, is this guy tall._ He towers above me and looks to be at least a foot taller than my 5 foot 3. For some stupid reason, I feel the need to measure up to him so I square my shoulders and try to stand as tall as I can.

He smirks, but doesn't say anything. Great.

"I was in the neighborhood. John told me this was where you were staying, so I thought I'd drop by. Check in on things. See how you were doing."

"Oh. Um Yeah, I'm doing ok, I think." I say. "I got a job at this gift shop so I've mostly just been busy with that."

"Good, good." He says, walking towards the sitting area. "Why don't we take a seat, Velia. There are some things I wanted to discuss."

I follow and laugh uneasily. "What, am I in trouble?"

So this guy zones out on me and now he wants to have a heart-to-heart?

The corner of his mouth turns up ever so slightly. "No, I simply would like to talk about your mum." He flops himself down on a couch in front of a fireplace.

I wince. "Oh." Everything was going fine right up until now. I feel myself deflating as memories of my mom come rushing back. But I take a deep breath and push them away.

Slowly, I sit down and immediately look at my hands. I've developed this really bad habit... I bite my nails and pick at the skin around them. My hands are gross.

I can tell he's staring at me and feeling conscious, I tug my sleeves and hide my hands but refuse to look up at him. He wants to talk, so let him talk. He can start first.

Seconds pass by, followed by minutes, and he still doesn't say anything. The silence starts to get uncomfortable, so I try to sneak a quick glance up at him to see what he's doing.

My attempts at a quick glance are immediately scrapped, however, because I freeze as soon as I look up.

He legs are crossed and he has one arm up on the arm rest of the chair and his chin rests on his hand.

But it's not his posture that makes me freeze.

He's doing that weird staring thing again. Like he's looking _into_ my soul or something.

I gulp and try to look away but I can't. So I just stare back.

Tiny wrinkles are just beginning to appear on his face, but it still glows with youth. The dark waves toppled on his head, his sky-high cheekbones, and bright blue eyes make it obvious why my mom spoke about him so much. I start to feel uncomfortable but he's still zoned out. At a loss of what else to do, I keep looking back at him as he stares at me like he knows what I'm thinking, what I've done, who I am, and everything in between.

I swear, it's downright scary how intently he can stare. I shudder and instinctively try to make myself as small as I possibly can. This action earns me a deep-throated chuckle from him.

So he wasn't zoned out.

His eyes spark, suddenly lit up with interest and amusement. He tilts his head to one side, as a corner of his mouth turns up.

"My apologies." He says. "It's just… you look so much like her, it's strange."

Sarcasm is always my first defense, so I say, "Well, yeah, that's kind of how children work."

He chuckles. "And there's the legendary Forrester charm. Helen was like that too. Always quick to retort."

I'm starting to get annoyed by him comparing me to Mom. "You said you wanted to talk about something, Mr. Holmes?"

"Ah, yes." He says, his voice and face taking on more serious tones. "Well, I know it must be difficult to talk about your mum, seeing as it has not been very long since she died, however she and I had a good rapport back in university, and I would simply like to know a bit more about her life."

I really don't want to, but I figure if I answer his questions, he'll stop talking about Mom so much, so I straighten my shoulders and brace myself. "Ok, shoot."

It's like I pushed an "On" button, because he immediately leans forward and starts speaking faster than I've heard him speak so far.

"Two weeks ago, you came to our flat, you mentioned something about how your mother had you at a young age. _Exactly _how old was she when you were born?"

His question throws me off guard… Why does it matter?

"She was 19, I think, almost 20… why?" I reply.

He sits back and readjusts his hands so the tips of his fingers are just under his chin.

Ignoring me, he continues. "You said you had a stepfather, leading me to assume you are not in close contact with your biological father. Do you know who he is?"

"Uh, yeah, I've met him a few times, but he's not exactly Daddy-material… I mean, he sends me a birthday and Christmas gift every year, but he's a travel writer so he barely ever visits. . His name is Luca Moretti, he's Italian. That's why my mom gave me an Italian name. He's always in a different country, which is why he and Mom didn't get married, but I guess they were on ok terms. He came to the funeral, and offered to let me stay with him, but I chose to stay with my stepdad instead, 'cause it's not like I know him that well or anything…" I trail off. "Why does it matter who my dad is though?" I feel like he isn't telling me something.

He waves me off. "Just curious. So, she became pregnant _while_ she was in England, and decided to leave because of it." He states slowly and deliberately, as if it's a sentence he's trying to memorize.

He suddenly gets up and sticks his hand out for me to shake it.

"Pleasure making your acquaintance, Velia, thank you for answering my questions, but I must be on my way."

_Is he serious?_

I get up too, but don't shake his hand, and block his path. I try to appear strong, but it's kind of hard, what with him being a human skyscraper and everything.

"Woah, mister. Wait a second. So you come here all the way to my hotel to talk about my mom, ask two questions, and leave?!" I ask incredulously.

He looks at me like _I'm_ the crazy one. "Yes. I came here to get some answers, I've gotten those answers, so my business here is done. Now, if you'll excuse me." He tries to side-step me, but I cut him off again.

"No." I say.

"Excuse me?" he says with one eyebrow quirked and a smirk plastered on his face.

I cross my arms. "No. You don't get to do that. My mom considered you a _really_ good friend, okay? She _always_ spoke highly of you and I was under the impression that you might help her daughter who is _all alone_ in a strange country all by herself with no friends." I say, angrily. "She told me that you were socially awkward, but I never thought that meant you'd be so _rude."_

At that, he smiles. "Just like Helen…" he mumble just loud enough for me to hear.

"Very well, then, Velia Forrester." He says, looking towards his watch. "I really must be on my way, but I would like to continue our conversation. John is having a get-together two days from now. I don't know why, but he finds it necessary to invite our social contacts and feed them every few months. I'm sure he'd be delighted if you came."

Without my permission, my anger subsides and a tiny smile creeps its way onto my face.

"Oh. Okay." I say. "Sure, what time?"

"6:00 p.m. Our flat." He says, tipping his head towards me. "See you then." He walks away, well more like saunters away, leaving me standing there to register the events of the past few minutes.

Sherlock Holmes is definitely a strange man, that much is for certain. He's abrupt and direct and unlike anyone I've ever met before. And the way he keeps comparing me to my mom… I don't know what to think. Should I be flattered? Annoyed? Upset?

I don't know, but one thing's for sure, he clearly knew my mom very well. Whenever my mom spoke about her university days, it was usually only in reference to him. As much as it pains me to think about my mom, I know that it does help to talk things out. I want to know more about who _she _was and what she was like back then. Sherlock is the only person who might be able to answer my questions. Maybe it'll help me get some closure about my mom. Maybe hearing stories about her time at university will help my time there feel better as well. I make up my mind to go. Sure, it'll be full of adults, but they can't be _so _bad. Sherlock Holmes got his answers today, and at 6:00 p.m. two days from now, I'm going to get mine.

* * *

**A/N: Secret's almost out... Any guesses as to who Velia is? REVIEW PLEASE! Maybe I'll post faster and make the chapters longer! (hint hint) Thanks for reading and have a lovely day :)**


	5. Chapter 5: Observations and Deductions

**A/N:**** Here's the next chapter! The longest so far, I think. Lemme know how you guys are liking the story so far! Happy reading:)**

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing from the Sherlock universe.**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Observations and Deducitons**

* * *

**Velia**

I carefully tie the ribbon in my hair and step back to take a look at myself. I wasn't sure how fancy this get-together is going to be, so I opted for an outfit that can pass for causal but also slightly formal. I'm wearing a pleated skirt with stockings that have little bows on them and then my favorite blue cardigan on top. Mom used to tell me it brought my eyes out.

I like old-fashioned things, and I don't like drawing attention to myself, so I usually dress like this. In fact, I look pretty forgettable and ordinary, just the way I like it. Librarian-chic, my mom used to call my style. I smile at the memory. The only thing that's different today is that I put my hair half-up, half-down instead of my usual bun.

I check the time, it's 5:50. The cab ride shouldn't take too long and I'll be right on time if I leave now. So, I grab my umbrella and bag and head out.

I'm halfway across the lobby and almost at the front door when someone behind me wolf-whistles. "Lookin' good, 607!" A guy calls out. I internally groan. It's Kyle, this American guy who works here as a bell-hop. I only know his name because he wears a name tag and only know he's American because he pretty much told me his whole life story the first time we met. He's been bothering me since I checked in when he helped me with my suitcases up to my room -room 607- and he's been calling me that ever since. Even though he knows my name since he read them on my suitcase tags.

I pretend like I didn't hear him and walk a little faster.

I'm almost home free, just a few more steps to the front doors, when I feel his hand on my shoulder.

Ugh. Fantastic.

"Hey, I was talking to you, 607, what's the hurry?"

I take a deep breath, and slowly turn around. No point in trying to escape now.

"Kyle." I say, putting on a fake smile. "Sorry, I didn't hear you."

"Hey, no worries. So, you headin' out somewhere, 607? You look great." He says, playing with my hair.

I calmly step back, and fix my hair, wishing I could disappear, but settle with putting as much distance between myself and him as possible.

"Yes, I have somewhere to be." I check my watch. "As a matter of fact, I'm running late, I should really get going."

His smirk turns to a scowl. "What, you got a date? You told me you already had a boyfriend back home." He grabs my arm, but thankfully not too tight. "You didn't lie to me, did you, 607?"

The idiot asked me out literally the second after he dropped my suitcases off.

Actually, I did lie because a) I have never had a boyfriend and certainly don't have one waiting for me back home and b) I wouldn't go out with someone like him if you paid me. I mean, he's good looking and everything, but he's way too cocky and it doesn't seem like I'd get along with him.

I carefully pry my arm away from him and calmly say, "No, I don't have a date. I've been invited to dinner by some family friends, and they'll be wondering where I am if I don't get going."

He shrugs, and seems to accept my explanation. "Fine. But if your boy back home ever drops you, you know who to come to, eh, 607?" He raises his eyebrows and grins in a way that he probably thinks makes him look attractive. Then, he leans forward and says, "And, you know, even if he doesn't..."

I swallow the bile that has risen up my throat. Kyle always makes me feel very uncomfortable, but this is crossing the line.

"Uh, right." I say, and turn around and flee before he can say anything else.

* * *

**John**

Everyone should be arriving any minute now. Lestrade is already here. We're waiting on Molly, Mike Stamford and Zara, my current girlfriend to arrive. Mrs. Hudson is fixing up the last few details, milling about and straightening out pillows and the like. I'm transferring the take-away we ordered into serving dishes. I enjoy having people over, but it no way does that mean I enjoy cooking.

Sherlock, of course, is being absolutely and utterly useless and is instead pacing back and forth across the living room and obsessively checking his watch every few seconds.

Lestrade chuckles from the sofa. "What are you so worried about, Sherlock? Sit down you're making me nervous."

"_He's_ nervous, Greg." I joke, pouring some pasta into a dish. It smells amazing. "We have an important guest joining us today."

At that, Sherlock stops pacing and glares at me.

When Sherlock told me he had invited Velia, he had the slightest hint of a smile on his face. It was quite funny, actually. He almost seemed excited. When I pointed it out, he replied with his signature chin-raise and said,_ "Don't be absurd, John."_ Really, he's such a teenager sometimes.

"Oh?" asks Lestrade.

"She's the daughter of an old acquaintance who recently died. I thought it might be appropriate to have her over. Sentiment and courtesy. Social graces and all that stuff John's always going on about." Sherlock says defensively.

I chuckle. He's excited and he won't admit it. Well, I suppose I can't complain. At least he's stopped sulking since he spoke with her.

We've left the main door open so everyone can just walk up, but just then, someone knocks at the door leading into the flat. Sherlock speeds to the door to open it and immediately groans and pivots on his heel to trudge back in.

"It's just Laura." He mutters.

"Zara." I say at the same time as she does. I go over to greet her.

"Whatever." Sherlock rolls his eyes, and goes back to pacing.

The same routine happens twice more when Molly and Mike Stamford arrive. Sherlock expectantly turns to the door, then deflates when it isn't Velia.

Idiot's still pacing, so I have to explain why to everyone. I give everyone a quick introduction to Velia and tell them a little bit about who Helen was as well.

Sherlock checks his watch for about the hundredth time, and huffs. "It's 6:15, John, I told her 6:00, where is she?"

"I'm sure she's on her way, Sherlock, she's probably just running late. She's a teenage girl, she's probably just late getting ready."

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, "Please, John. Did you see her? She's not the type of person that takes pride in her appearance, why would she be late if she-"

He's interrupted by Velia rushing through the already open door.

"Sorry I'm late!" she breathes. "I got here as fast as I could."

Everyone gets up to greet her, but Sherlock hangs back and has instead taken on his case-face. Oh boy.

Ignoring him, I introduce Velia to everyone. She looks nice, and _has_ in fact gone to the trouble of dressing up, I want to point out to Sherlock, but he's still standing in the corner and just watching.

* * *

**Velia**

I come in and immediately wish I hadn't. I'm met by a room full of strangers. Unless you count John and Sherlock, of course, but I don't consider to know them well enough yet. The introvert inside of me is begging me to turn around and just run, but I wanted to do this, I remind myself, so I step inside.

"Sorry I'm late! I got here as fast as I could." I apologize.

John takes my coat and introduces me to everyone. I meet their landlady Mrs. Hudson again, who hugs me and chirps something about me looking _"So pretty, just look at her hair, oh, how lovely!"_ She's a very nice, motherly lady.

Then there's Detective Lestrade, who says it's wonderful to meet me and I have to bite my tongue not to say something stupid back because I almost said something along the lines of _"No, it's wonderful to meet __**you**__." _I'm sorry, he may be old but he is _quite_ the looker…

Then I meet Mike Stamford, a polite, large man who apparently is how John and Sherlock met each other.

After that there's Zara, John's girlfriend who's very pretty and compliments me on my outfit by saying it's _"So vintage! You're so cute!" _And then proceeds to _pinch my cheeks_ like I'm five years old or something. I try to resist the urge to roll my eyes and mutter a thank you instead.

Finally, I meet Molly Hooper, their friend who works at the hospital. She's kind of quiet and awkward and I decide that I like her almost immediately after shaking her hand.

Everyone is gathered around the fireplace and I go to sit down but then realize that in the flurry of meeting everyone, I hadn't seen Sherlock. I look around, and see that he's standing near the window and is –surprise, surprise- staring at me once again.

So I go over to him this time and cough to get his attention. "Well," I say. "I'm here."

He frowns down at me and looks upset. "Someone has been bothering you." He states. "You can stay here if you don't feel safe."

"W-hat?" I exclaim. "H-how, how do you _know_ that!?"

He rolls his eyes. "I don't _know_, I _see_. Your outfit is neatly pressed. You've clearly gone through the trouble of making sure it was perfect, and it is, except for your skirt where you obviously sat down and then the middle of your left forearm. You're carrying a bag on your right shoulder, so the wrinkles can't be form that. Someone grasped your arm tightly enough for it to leave a mark, but _why_ would they unless it was to stop you from moving? Your hair is disheveled, your ribbon is coming undone and you came up here in quite a hurry. You weren't that late, didn't have much of a need to run, so why did you unless you were trying to get away from something, or _someone._ Conclusion, somewhere between your hotel room and here, someone assaulted you and you don't feel secure about it."

He's right, he's absolutely right.

I roll my eyes raise an eyebrow. "Ok, show-off, but how could you know I don't feel safe?"

He scoffs, "Please, look at the state of your fingernails, the bags under your eyes, your posture, the tremor in your left hand. Everything about you screams anxiety and low self-confidence, not to mention that you're alone 80 percent of the time _and _the fact that you clearly have isolation issues seeing as your mother just died."

Everything inside of me falls, and the wall I thought I had built strong enough around me comes crashing down at his harsh words. I feel tears prickling behind my eyes, threatening to spill, and then they do. My breath hitches, and before I know it, I'm crying.

He raises his eyebrows and his mouth opens slightly like he's surprised and doesn't understand why I'm reacting this way.

Angrily, I swat at the tears and swallow the lump in my throat.

"Fine. You're right, Mr. Holmes, you're 100 percent exactly right." I seethe. "Yes, I hate myself, and yes, I have a lot of anxiety issues, but don't think for one second that that means I can't defend myself. I would return back to America before I'd even think about staying here." And with that, I turn around and walk back to the living room, only to see that everyone has been watching the entire exchange.

"I'm fine." I announce, hoping I sound more confident than I feel. I sit down next to Molly, and she carefully takes my hands.

"He's like that, dear." She says apologetically. "All the time, I'm afraid." She shrugs. "There's no changing him. You just have to get used to it."

"Really, Sherlock, she's just a child!" says Mrs. Hudson. "I'm terribly sorry, love, he just doesn't understand these things."

John gets up. "No. No, Velia, that was wrong. I'm sorry." He turns to Sherlock, and gives him a pointed look.

"I'm sorry, Velia. I did not expect my words to have such an impact on you. You asked me to clarify something I guessed about you, and so I did. I did not predict that you might have taken offense. I am sorry." He slowly.

And he really does look sorry. Sherlock actually looks genuinely concerned. But I don't buy it for one second. Mom told me he was a great actor and an even better liar.

I shrug and say, "Fine." But I ignore him for the rest of the night.

I leave around 10:00, and John offers to take the taxi ride back with me, but since Sherlock was listening, I politely decline. I don't want him to think I need to be protected.

Back at the hotel, I consider Skyping Brian, but then decide against it. I'm not feeling too great after the events of tonight and I don't need another bout of homesickness to top it all off.

Other than the incident with Sherlock, I had a wonderful time tonight. Dinner was delicious, and everyone turned out to be really nice. Mrs. Hudson was appalled to learn that I've been surviving on a diet consisting of strictly hotel breakfasts and sandwiches, and insisted that I come over for dinner a few times a week. Detective Lestrade offered me a job as an administrative assistant at his office, which I graciously accepted. Anything was better than dealing with tourists at my current job. Molly even invited me over to her place next week, which I'm really looking forward to because I really like her.

I take my meds –Sherlock was spot-on about guessing I had anxiety issues- and fall into a fitful sleep.

* * *

**John**

After everyone leaves and the flat is relatively tidied, I confront Sherlock.

"Well?"

"Well, what, John?"

"Anything to say about what happened with Velia tonight?"

"No."

I sigh, exasperated.

"Sherlock. _You _invited her over. You were looking _forward _to it. And then you go and make her cry. She's a _child_, Sherlock. She's obviously still broken about her Mum's death, but you just had to make your deductions, didn't you."

"I did what I always do, John. It was not my intention to make her cry. I apologized and she said fine, so the matter is done with."

"So that's that, then? You don't feel any regret?"

He hesitates for the slightest second and something flashes behind his eyes. "There wasn't anything I could do, John, the damage was already done. I apologized, but she made it clear afterwards that she did not want to speak with me. I left her alone, because that is what she indicated she wanted. I _am _sorry that I hurt her, but I am _not_ sorry for the way she reacted. It showed me a lot about her, and I am now aware of what to do in future situations."

I shrug, too tired to say much else. "Fine, Sherlock. As long as you don't do it again."

He smiles to himself and says, "I assure you, John, I won't."

* * *

**A/N:**** SO. A lot going on this chapter. Watch out for that Kyle, he's bad news... And how was my Sherlock? He's nearly impossible to write, but I hope I did semi-ok? I don't know, I tried. Lemme know in the reviews! It's starting off slow, but it gets better soon! Thanks for reading and have a lovely day :)**


	6. Chapter 6: Sneezes and Suspicions

**A/N:**** Sorry sorry sorry for the super long wait! But I haven't failed you, dear readers. A LOT HAPPENS THIS CHAPTER. Slight warning for depression and eating disorders… But other than that, Happy reading!**

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing from the Sherlock universe.**

* * *

**Chapter 6:**** Sneezes and Suspicions**

* * *

**John**

It's been a few days since the incident with Sherlock and Velia, and much to my surprise, Sherlock has been acting quite normal. No more sulking, and no more angry violin. Thank goodness. He has been out of the flat more often, but apparently it's for a case.

I'm writing a blog post, when someone knocks at the door and opens it. It's Velia.

"Hey, John." she says sheepishly, staying in the doorway.

"Velia! Come in, come in."

She looks around the flat and then looks at me timidly. "Is, um, is Sherlock home?"

I laugh. "No, you're lucky, he's out at the moment. Although," I look at my watch. "He should be back sometime soon."

She lets out a breath, significantly relieved and steps in, though stays standing. "Oh. Good. I just wanted to drop by, anyway. I was down at Mrs. Hudson's for dinner, so I thought I'd just come up and say hi. I won't stay long, though."

"Oh, that's right, she told me you'd be coming over today. She was very excited to finally be able to cook for you."

She smiles and nods. "She's an excellent cook. It was nice being taken care of… Haven't really had that much attention in a while." She shrugs.

I don't want her to think too much about that, so I divert the subject. "And your job over at Yard? It was your first day, today, wasn't it?"

This time she smiles a real, big smile. "It was great. Miles better than selling key chains and magnets to tourists. It was kind of scary, because there were a couple of criminals in the office. And everyone seems so important and official, and then there's me, some little 17 year old kid just filing and making phone calls. But I guess I'll get used to it." She laughs to herself, as if remembering something. "Actually, there was this one guy… Andrew I think his name was? When Lestrade was introducing me to everyone, he told them that he knows me through Sherlock. And that guy said something about having to deal with a Sherlock _inside_ the office on top of dealing with the real thing outside? I don't know, but he seemed pretty ticked off."

"Ohh, you mean Anderson!" I laugh. "Yeah, he's not exactly Sherlock's biggest fan."

Right then, Sherlock steps in. "Just as I am not his."

I see Velia mutter an expletive under her breath and roll her eyes, all in an expression that I am far too familiar with. An expression that I see at least five times every day.

_What?_

In a matter of probably _exactly_ one second, my eyes dart to Sherlock, to Velia, to Sherlock, and back.

"Um, I think I'm gonna get going, John. Goodnight."

She turns around and nods curtly at Sherlock. "Mr. Holmes."

And disappears from the flat.

* * *

**Sherlock**

Velia had dinner with Mrs. Hudson tonight. According to Mrs. Hudson, she ate very little, therefore another one of my deductions are now confirmed. Eating disorder. Typical, teenage behavior.

I give her a wide berth, enough time to eat, spend some time with Mrs. Hudson and possibly visit John. Only then, do I return to the flat. She wouldn't have come in if she knew I was there. Her back is turned to me, she can't see me yet.

Velia and John are having a friendly conversation._ How _two people who barely know each other can be so nice to each other is completely beyond me.

"Ohh, you mean Anderson!" John says. "Yeah, he's not exactly Sherlock's biggest fan."

"Just as I am not his." I cut in.

John looks up to me and his eyes dart back and forth between me and Velia, and I know immediately what he's thinking.

* * *

**Velia**

"I need you to take this to Donovan for me, Velia. Tell her I need it back by tonight." Lestrade hands me a heavy file.

"Sure." I walk across the floor to Sergeant Donovan's office. I've never met her, but she doesn't seem like the greatest person. Seems very snobby. Like she's the kind of person who think that her opinion is final and anything else is irrelevant.

I knock on the office door, only to hear an irritated "What?" from inside.

Hesitantly, I open the door and step inside. "DI Lestrade wanted me to give you this file.

"Right. Just leave it here then." she says, not looking away from her computer screen. I leave the file on her desk and turn to walk away, but she suddenly says,

"Hang on a second. You're the new kid Lestrade found, right? Friend of Sherlock's?"

"Um, acquaintance is probably a better word. But yeah."

"Ah. Look kid, you seem like a nice girl. If you want my advice, I'd stay away from Sherlock Holmes. Behind that curly hair and pretty face is a man you really don't need to be mixing with, believe me. He's dangerous, reckless, and is pure trouble if you ask me. He's a freak, a psychopath. The fun of listening to him deduce everything wears off very quickly, and when it does, you'll see what I mean."

For some odd reason, I find her words very offensive and want to defend Sherlock.

I stand taller and say, "Um, yeah. Thanks for the advice, but first of all, I think I'll make my judgments myself. Sure, he's kind of weird, but I know that he's a good person. Second of all, Lestrade wants that file back by tonight." I turn on my heel and leave the office.

I don't know why Donovan's comments annoyed me so much… Yeah, Sherlock's a complete butt, but he's not a _psychopath_. Mom wouldn't have been friends with someone that terrible. Probably Donovan's jealous of him. Or she's secretly in love with him. Either way, I didn't like what she said about Sherlock, and it gave me a pretty good indication of the kind of person she is herself.

After my shift's over, I go back to the hotel to freshen up before heading over to Molly's. She's invited me over for dinner.

Her apartment, or _flat_ I should say, looks exactly like what a flat where someone like Molly would live. It's decorated in an explosion of cute and girly things with pink and flowers everywhere.

About 10 minutes in though, my nose starts running and my eyes are itchy.

When I've sneezed about 4 times in a row, I finally ask Molly, "Sorry, Molly do you have a cat?"

She smiles brightly and replies, "Yes, his name's Toby. He's in my room, would you like to see him?"

Oh, that makes sense then. "Um, no I'm actually," _Achoo! _"Allergic. Very, very, allergic."

"Oh dear! I'm so sorry, I had no idea, Velia!"

"No, no, it's ok. Not your-" _Achoo!_ "Fault. It's fine. Could we just maybe open up a window or something?"

She quickly gets up. "Yes, yes of course. Goodness, I'm so sorry. But, I don't think the window will help much… Do you want to go out instead? We can go get some takeout?"

I smile and nod gratefully. "Yeah, that sounds great." I sneeze.

We end up going across the street to some Italian place. I get a small salad and some water.

"So." I say. "How did you meet Sherlock, Molly?"

She immediately blushes and looks down at her food. "Oh," she starts. "Well, to be perfectly honest, I don't remember… He's just been using the labs at Bart's for the longest time, really."

"You're blushing!" I laugh. "There's something going on between you two, isn't there!?"

She looks horrified and widens her already huge eyes. "Hush!" she looks around the restaurant like someone heard. "Of course there isn't! I mean, come on, you've seen him. He has no interest in relationships at all. And…" she trails off, a sad, faraway expression taking over her features. "And, even if he did, Sherlock wouldn't ever be interested in me." She shrugs. "Besides, I'm way too busy with work, and Toby, and, and he would probably be a _nightmare_ to be with, what with his moods and snappy comments." She sounds more like she's trying to convince _herself_ more than convince me… Poor thing. I wonder what Sherlock did to hurt her so much.

We wrap up dinner, and I thank Molly for inviting me over.

"Sorry again about Toby! I honestly didn't know you were so allergic." She apologizes profusely.

I laugh it off. "It's fine, Molly, honest. I actually really, really like cats. I wish I wasn't allergic, they're so cute. I'd want one myself. But I'm totally fine, don't worry."

I leave with my mood significantly improved. I've never been the type of person who has a large circle of friends. In all my years of high school, I was never invited to one party. Not that I'm the type of person who would attend parties in the first place, but still. I skipped first grade because I was so ahead of all the other kids. So I was always the youngest in all my classes, and it didn't help that I'm so short. I've also never been into the same kind of stuff people in my generation are. I've only ever had one good friend, Sara. But after Mom died, we kind of drifted apart. It's mostly my fault though. I pushed away all interaction with other people. Shut everyone out. Boxed myself in. Sara didn't know how to deal with my depression. Heck, neither did I. And I don't blame her at all.

Meeting with Molly today made me realize how much I've missed being myself with another person. She's sweet, and funny and not nosy at all. We have a lot in common and I can see myself being good friends with her even though she's a lot older than me. I kind of feel bad for her too… She's very hesitant and reserved, and doesn't seem like she likes herself very much.

Kind of like me.

* * *

**John**

I tell Sherlock I'm not feeling well and head to my room so I can sort out everything that's been bugging me since Velia's visit yesterday.

"I hear you pacing in there, John, if you really are sick, the most optimal way to reduce your period of illness would be to remain in one spot and sit down." He calls from the living room while playing his violin.

Idiot. Even when he can't see me he has to weasel his way into everything.

I sigh and rub at my face. It doesn't make any sense.

At first glance, Velia looks nothing like Sherlock. The only common thing between the two is their hair and eye color. I struggle with the mere possibility that Sherlock could have a daughter.

_Sherlock can't even go buy milk, how could he have had a kid?_

_But her hair is just like his._

_Sherlock has never had a girlfriend._

_But her eyes are just as blue as his._

_Sherlock can't have a kid. He's Sherlock for crying out loud._

_But she rolls her eyes just like he does._

_Sherlock would know if she was his daughter._

_But it would explain why her mother always spoke about him._

_Sherlock would have told me if he had a kid._

_But Lestrade told me he noticed she's very smart and intuitive._

_Sherlock can't have a kid- who would have a kid with Sherlock?_

_But she does really look like him if you pay attention._

I kick the desk.

_It. Makes. No. Sense._

Like Sherlock, she is slightly socially awkward, but not as much. She's a lot easier to get along with than him, but she seems strong headed to a certain degree. She's shy and withdrawn, but from what I can tell is highly intelligent as well. She got in to Cambridge after all. She's insecure but strong at the same time. The more I think about it, the more likely it starts to seem to me. It _could _be a possibility… The only thing that's bothering me is how Sherlock hasn't entertained the possibility that she is her daughter. Or if he has, why hasn't he mentioned it to me? But is that why he was acting so strange after she came that first time? I thought that was just because he heard that Helen had died.

So he was in a relationship with Helen?

Or wasn't he?

If it was serious enough for them to have had a child, _a real, living, breathing person, _how could Sherlock not know and why hasn't he told me?

I almost want to laugh that I'm thinking about it this seriously… It's just so ridiculous.

_Sherlock. Having a kid._

I'm about to kick the desk again when I hear talking outside.

Velia's here.

I quickly exit the room to go and say hi to her.

"We have a visitor, John." Sherlock says, dangling his violin bow.

She rolls her eyes… _Again. Just like he does._

"Hey John!" she smiles. "I was just dropping off these cookies Mrs. Hudson made." She says, pointing to a plate on the coffee table.

"You won't be staying?" I ask. I was hoping I could ask her some questions.

"No, it's getting late and I have an early shift tomorrow." She looks to her watch. "Yeah, I should get going. Bye John. Sherlock."

Sherlock resumes his playing.

Just as she turns to leave, I have an idea.

"Wait! Velia!" I grab her shoulder.

She turns back around, her eyebrows raised. "What's wrong?"

"Um…" I try to think of a quick lie. "Are you sure you don't want any cookies?"

She laughs, "No, I have some too, thanks."

"Right. Alright then, off you go." I try to act nonchalant.

She looks at me strangely and laughs again. "You ok, John? Maybe you should head to bed also." She turns to leave again. "Goodnight!"

"I'm fine." I mumble to myself as I look to my hands and look at the two strands of dark hair I managed to collect from Velia's shoulders.

* * *

**A/N:**** DUN DUUN DUUUUNNNNNN. I think you guys know where this story is headed now. Gonna start picking up speed. I will be including all the events of Reichenbach and beyond, so stay tuned!**

**A lot of people are reading this but hardly anyone reviews :( **

**I would really appreciate any feedback... How do you guys like the story so far? Anything you guys want to see or want me to add? Let me know!**

**I hope you guys all had an awesome New Year's Day and an even awesomer PREMIERE :) Thanks for reading!**

**-WriteOrLeft**


	7. Chapter 7: Eventually

**A/N:**** Hi everyone! Sorry for the super late update, but hopefully this will make up for it? Thanks for dropping by! Happy reading :)**

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing from the Sherlock universe.**

* * *

**Chapter 7: Eventually**

* * *

**John**  
It wasn't difficult to get a few pieces of Sherlock's hair. It wasn't difficult sending the samples to Molly for testing and telling her they were for a case. And from what she told me, it wasn't difficult performing the testing either.

What is difficult, is sitting here with the envelope carrying the results in my hands and bringing myself to open it.

Sherlock's out. Mrs. Hudson is visiting her sister. Velia should be at work. There are no possible disturbances. _Right now_ is the best time to open the results and decide what to do with them. If the results are negative, I have nothing to worry about. I'll know I was just being paranoid and Velia is really just a family friend, and Sherlock (and by extension, me) has no responsibility for her.

But if the results are positive... Velia is Sherlock's daughter. Sherlock is Velia's father. He might already know. But if he doesn't, how is he going to take the news? And then Velia... She thinks her father is an Italian travel writer, Sherlock told me a few days ago. How would she take the news that her mum lied to her? And for that matter, why did she lie?

I'm starting to get more and more confused so I decide just to open up the envelope and then decide what to do from there. Quick like a bandage I tell myself. One... Two... Three.

I tear open the envelope and carefully slide out the sheet of paper that rests inside. I unfold the sheet and quickly scan it for the information I need.

And then I see the word that will change everything.

"Positive."

* * *

I have to tell him. I have to tell him, it's the only thing to do. I can't tell Velia, that's for sure. I make up my mind to bring it up in the evening.

"Sherlock." I say firmly, trying to sound as serious as I can.

For the first time ever, Sherlock actually looks up the first time I try to get his attention. It usually takes a few _Sherlock!'s _to get him to listen.

"What?" he says, raising an eyebrow.

"I need to talk to you about something."

"So… Talk?"

"Right. Well, um. There's no easy way for me to say this, so I am just going to go right out and say it, okay?"

Sherlock sits up fully and puts the book he was reading down. "Well get on with it, then. I have work to do."

I lean forward in my chair and try to channel the part of me that comes through when I have to reveal diagnoses to patients, or relate bad news to family and relatives.

Clearing my throat, I begin. "Sherlock. You might find this hard to believe, but, I've been thinking about it, and I've done a test, and the evidence seems to point to the fact that…" I trail off. "Um, it seems that Velia, is your daughter."

He blinks once, then twice. "Sherlock?" I say. "Look, I know it seems ridiculous, but—"

"Why does it sound ridiculous?" He says defensively, straightening his back and resuming his usual air of arrogance and superiority.

"Erm, well, uh, it's just that, well, you know, you—" I stammer.

"Two things, John." Sherlock interrupts. "One, I have known that Velia is my daughter for quite some time now, but I appreciate your concern. And two, just because you have never seen me interacting with another woman doesn't mean that I never have."

Unbelievable. "What—so, you mean you've known this entire time?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Hi, my name is Sherlock Holmes, I know things. Nice to meet you."

"Ha, ha. Very funny, Sherlock. And- and you never bothered to tell me? Well, forget that, I mean, for that matter, you never bothered to tell her? Or even at least to show her any compassion? She's been living on her own for all this time, and you've been treating her terribly ever since we met her, Sherlock! How could you do this?" I say, furious.

He cocks an eyebrow, confused. "Well, I couldn't very well tell her I was her father, John, even I know that would be a poor decision. I've been evaluating her, trying to decide the best course of action. So far, the best thing to do is to cut her off and never say a thing."

I laugh out loud, my exasperation and frustration towards Sherlock getting the best of me. "No, Sherlock. No, that is most definitely _not _the best course of action."

"Why not? She already has her life mapped out and supported for her by a much more suitable father-figure than me. From what I hear, she's quite close with her step-father who is a _very _affluent man, capable of providing her with all her needs. She seems set on attending university in the fall, and after that, she won't need anyone, so why not just leave things be? As the old cliché goes, what you don't know can't hurt you. Keeping the truth from Velia won't affect anything."

I take a deep breath, getting annoyed. "Sherlock, look. I can see why you'd think that. But you're only thinking of this in terms of _logic_. Let me explain it to you in terms of _feelings_."

"Oh, joy. Feelings." He mumbles.

"Shut up." I say, firmly. "And listen. Don't interrupt me. Velia thinks she's an _orphan_, Sherlock. Her mother's dead and she thinks her father is a travel writer. She's alone in a city she doesn't know, with no family and next to no friends. She obviously has emotional problems, but from what I've noticed she almost certainly has some type of eating disorder _and_ an anxiety disorder. She might do well with a bit of emotional support. I think you _should _tell her. Eventually. If only because it might help her to have some sense of belonging and familiarity? I know you could argue that it might traumatize her further to know that she's been lied to her whole life. But, to be honest I have a feeling it won't be too big of a shock given how much her mother told her about you growing up. She's obviously a very intelligent girl, it isn't that far of a stretch if you think about it. If we explain everything properly, I don't think it'll be too big of a problem. Besides, I'm sure with a little digging we can find out if her mother had an important reason for hiding this from both you and Velia. So, Sherlock, I think that the best course of action would be to tell Velia the truth. Not now, obviously, but soon."

Sherlock remains quiet throughout my entire speech. Then, quietly he says, "You're missing one important detail, John."

"What?" I ask, confused. I've been thinking about this for quite some time, and I thought I had covered all the main points.

He swallows and seems somewhat unsure of himself. Looking towards the window he slowly says, "I can understand that she should know. However. The fact remains that I am not exactly the most… kind man. I am not cut out to…. Well. I fail to see how Velia would benefit from learning that her father is… a person like me."

I don't know what to say. He's got a point, I suppose, but he isn't that terrible. Sherlock thinks he hasn't got a heart, but I know better. "Sherlock…"

Quickly, he straightens his shoulders again and composes himself. "I'm fine, John, I don't need pity." He says, waving me off, back to his usual self. "I'm simply trying to put Velia's well-being first. She cannot know that she has been lied to her entire life. Not to mention, that she doesn't like me the very least bit. I can barely keep _you_ as a friend, I have no idea how to act towards a _child_. I've made her cry, and I've humiliated her, and she probably hates me. Therefore, I do not think that it would be wise to tell her the truth at the moment."

I nod, understanding. "Okay. Okay, that's fine. But could you at least agree to tell her eventually? Perhaps after you've both gotten to know each other some more?"

He places his hands under his chin.

"Yes, that seems suitable."

* * *

**A/N:**** Well? What did you think? I'll try to update as soon as I can.**

**I would really appreciate any feedback on my writing. How's my characterization? Dialogue? Anything I need to work on? I would love any feedback :)**

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**Thanks for reading!**

**- WriteOrLeft**


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